i feel that i am destroying something sacred with my honesty and lack of understanding, misthinking that the degree if strength and confidence people possess is not always what they show on the surface — or that confidence is itself so nuanced a thing that where one can be confident in general, may not be in all aspects. my lack of confidence has led to speaking to him about unhappinesses, which in turn have led him to worry and lose confidence. it’s like a self-perpetuating cycle, of which i have decided today is [hopefully] in my power to stop… for i do not want it like this, did not know he would be so shattered in this arena, did not realize that i acted the confident part because i was the more confident part. how i wish these days to hold my tongue, and i am now, in this moment, going to do so…

It doesn’t always seem like people are most observant when you’re out and strolling about. Today, though, I was out for only a half-hour span and it seemed different. People were awake and paying attention. Perhaps it was the sunny weather; perhaps it was the full moon last night; perhaps it was THE FUCKING FINDING OF ALIEN DNA $@$@(*#@#&!!

In any case. I took a walk-read and began Oscar Wilde’s The Picture Of Dorian Gray, which will no doubt be a very quick and easy read. I am excited, as most of the books I have been reading as of late are quite challenging, or if not, are not of the particular type I like exactly. This book matches exactly my desires and writing style, kind of, and also had some topics which overlapped with a conversation we had last night at the Swahili house. The conversation was one of half doom and gloom, of what will happen when science and spirituality meet, should they meet, where technology is taking us, etc. Details I forget.

Anyway, back to today. The walk-read led me to a small section of seating outside of the nearby elementary school. There were four benches in a circle, I believe, but one was situated just perfectly for the sun to be shining directly upon me. It was, of course, my choice of seat. I read one chapter and then settled down into a meditation, thinking that no one would really pass, or if they did, that they had better things to pay attention to — since they would likely be joggers or families, and such. That was generally the case, though I spied — through closed eyes — a force that stopped on the sidewalk ahead of me. I felt him to be a photographer, and in fact, two seconds after that a shutter clicked twice. I thought of opening my eyes, to in a sense scare him, as I was not so deep in meditation that I failed to notice his presence, but I decided against it. Continuing the vibration felt more desirable. A few minutes later, another group of guys passed by and were speaking of meditation class. From the distance from which they were talking about meditation, it seemed that they had already be speaking about that topic, though I can’t be sure. Soon thereafter, I finished meditating, opened my eyes, and looked directly onto a house porch to my left — for no particular reason — and saw a photographer there. I am unsure whether it is the same photographer, as he was not trained on me at this point and I had not heard a shutter click since the original two. The initial shutter I had heard was one I considered unmistakably from a film camera; this man held a digital camera.

I went to the supermarket and returned. On my way back, while I was reading and walking, two men on a porch caught a glimpse of my bookmark, and one made a mention about how it was a BART ticket. This statement sunk in too late, as I was already passing the next house and bushes had already blocked my view of the observer, but I marveled! I marveled at how people were actually awake, actually paying attention…! It seems rare, it seems rare. It seems rare?

Troy bought me a pair of headphones as a present; they are the same ones that he mixes in the studio with. They are apparently not amazing, but I have not possessed headphones for quite some time now, and it was very sweet of him to buy them for me, simply for desiring to buy me a present, and I imagine, because I am a poor ass motherfucker. He had been speaking some time now of dropping a present upon me such as these; I had not expected it to actually happen. He has a good chance of getting a new job tomorrow, and he just sold his van today for 1.7k. It’s less than expected or desired, but it’s something, anyway.

I feel like a bit of a butthead the past few days, and I’ll have to apologize to him tonight. I am going through some emotional weirdnesses, but I think they’re tapering off. I just don’t want to be shitty about them. Meow. Mrawr. I’m trying to regulate a lot of contrasts between mind and spirit, I guess, and trying to figure out what the optimal amount of time we should spend together is. Because I can spend lots of time, but I get bummed sometimes when that is the case because I feel I am neglecting myself; yet, at the same time, those are times I want, and the main question in my heart at those times is what IS actually best for us? It’s hard to tell.

At least DJ Doc is awesome? I dunno, shit. I think I am done with this post, and generally glad to be getting back into the swing of writing regularly and all that. Time to paint my nails. Oh, right, and I took out my lip ring. I guess I’m aimed to grow up, just a tiny bit, just a fraction. Maybe? I dunno. Time to check be in on my job interview again tomorrow. This week begins the madness, tons of shows, tons of stuff, tons of shows!!

We have an infestation of little fucking moth ass bitches. It is amazingly obnoxious. I just killed three in, I want to say, the past hour? Punch them in the face want! Nick’s girlfriend Sasha said they were boll weevils. They are not boll weevils. They are definitely moths, or at least something related to moths. Some definitely worm-babied on my rice; I ate it anyway cause I kinda don’t care because that shit gets boiled anyway It is annoying as shit, though!!

If I don’t get the job this week, I may go to Hong Kong next month for Joe’s wedding, with a stopover in either China or Korea. I’m unsure. I want to leave and do not. But I can’t let free trips out of sight, now can I? That would be downright foolish.

feels like i am in some kind of weird hell lately, some weird sexually-frustrating, energy-lacking hell, in which i can no longer determine whether i am at fault, or if others are at fault, or if situations are to blame. sleep, the problem is with not being able to sleep, any longer, as though i am waiting idly by mourning the loss of something, for some future…

curdled milk, curdled stomach, laziness. what the fuck happened, i can guess, but am i to keep pointing fingers in the face of such fallibility of memory? i suppose not. instead, i am going to crunch on my own weird toes, my own purple and cold toes, pastiche, until i find myself at a head with my own guilt, who arrives at my doorstep by way of my saying too much in the name of honesty, by my destruction of things due to to confusion, humanity, logical feeling, past reprisals, conjunctions, injunctions, locking on my legs some chains, a ball, my heart, to failure, to stale bread, to rats and water, to prison doors not slamming but creaking shut with slow, sorrowful lack of intent. bloodying knees, bloodied on hands, between the legs, there, the only relief, as it would provide an excuse, a way out of the perpetual disappointment and guilt compounded by disappointment. i am a creature of fire, no doubt i am here, with all things perfect but one main thing, which has become, as foretold in the stars, destructive, destruction, burning flame raining down upon the growth, the blooms, the flowers. and i’m wondering when the season will come again, when the world’s springtime will align with our springtime, and when the emotions will run high as dust, kicked up like pollen amidst a rainfall, kicked up not to blind or to torture — but to bring attention to, to draw a playful awareness of now and not forever, of now and things will fade… of now, and why are we wasting it upon…

ugh.

i am like some forlorn creature, tethered to myself but half floating from afar, frustrated by my own complexities, familiar only with my own inability to clarify the reasons for the distance.

above, a sense of failure in navigating, as though an excited collection of fingers touching down upon grace, and things made of dream fodder, are not enough, will never be enough.

within, a sense of failure in understanding, as though a lack for attention spans and simple underlying sympathies point towards root tendencies towards selfishness.

so inconsolable, so treacherous, though without intention. thus wearing emotions upon one’s sleeve marks one as honest but presents a constant worry and manifests exhaustion in the he, muted or not.

are we acting out scripts? filling in roles? inadvertently dodging faces? purposely giving in automated excess?

—

Edit > 10:48pm
It is most interesting that I have just been reading Virginia Woolf’s To The Lighthouse all evening, and similar words and emotions have been expressed, as I have been feeling, acknowledge ridiculously to be feeling, but want desperately not to feel… My sentiments are not callous to such a degree, not so overwhelmingly filled with distaste or so unloving — but there is a degree of this, which outwardly, manifests similarly. (Hopefully I don’t go sticking my head into the oven in the future, or go burning beautiful things to the ground by sheer idiocy.)

Looking at his hand he thought that if he had been alone dinner would have been almost over now; he would have been free to work. Yes, he thought, it is a terrible waste of time… how trifling it all is, how boring it all is, he thought, compared with the other thing — work. Here he sat drumming his fingers on the table-cloth when he might have been–he took a flashing bird’s-eye view of his work. What a waste of time it all was to be sure! Yet, he thought, she is one of my oldest friends. I am by way of being devoted to her. Yet now, at this moment her presence meant absolutely nothing to him: her beauty meant nothing to him; her sitting with her little boy at the window–nothing, nothing. He wished only to be alone and to take up that book. He felt uncomfortable; he felt treacherous, that he could sit by her side and feel nothing for her… He reproached himself again. He was sitting beside Mrs. Ramsay and he had nothing in the world to say to her…

He felt rigid and barren, like a pair of boots that have been soaked and gone dry so that you can hardly force your feet into them. Yet he must force his feet into them. He must make himself talk. Unless he were very careful, she would find out this treachery of his; that he did not care a straw for her, and that would not be at all pleasant, he thought. So he bent his head courteously in her direction.

sending letters to boyfs.

oh you know. instead of sleeping. explaining! this was after quite a blinding moment of self-realization. might as well share with the lover. man, i am a complicated person.

i think in my writing exercises tonight, i’ve pinpointed the major new source of my recent anxiety. thought it was weirdly profound, by my own suppositions, and thought that i might share it with you a little bit…

my ramblings began with self-analyzing kind of why i have been rather nostalgic in an obnoxious way lately — curious about stupid shit that i had generally been avoiding or whatever, looking up troy one’s facebook page, for example, or even reading old letters we’d written just to have some idea about what they said. i don’t know why! it’s just kinda been a curious exploration into, “was that really a thing, and why was it a thing?” or something (the answer is still yes, though i forget from time to time).

after these ramblings to self, i thought with a start that it was getting all of these readings lately, and just generally having outside things (or inside things vaguely disguised as outside things) tell me what “my path” is supposed to be that is making me anxious. it is all making me consider my future more than i would like to, and in an unreasonable way. like i’ve been saying so much lately, i feel like i am at a crossroads and that i don’t know what to do… but i feel now, as i am realizing this, that usually i don’t have this fucking problem because i am usually living in the present. but newfound future knowledge is confusing my intuition and causing me to have expectations… or, more accurately, is making me worry about whether or not i’ll live up to my expectations (one always has expectations, after all).

i never thought something like this would even potentially be bothersome!… probably because i never, up until now, believed in predictive things like tarot readings or past life readings with too much conviction. but now, due to my belief in their accuracy and their massive corroborations with one another, i am getting all caught up in the future when the future obviously hasn’t happened and worrying about it pre-emptively is completely pointless. i wrote to myself today that i must re-learn how to live in the present. the future will come, and it is certainly important to be forward-leaning,but i don’t want to expect. it is not becoming of me or natural of me to expect…!!!!!!

i think the dissonance comes from the fact that so many things are telling me things that i already feel. that they are being declared to me in addition to my feeling them transforms them from personal “let’s look and see!’ adventures to embark on into weird mechanized processes to reach an end goal. no fun and not enough mystery in the latter, with the most significant problem being its vague timeline. having a clear-ish sense about events in the future causes me to rely not on intuition and general go-with-the-flow sentiments, which are fun…!, but on neurotic, pressure-laden self-examinations wherein i am constantly wondering if i am making the right moves at any given point in the timeline. it’s almost as if knowing about the future makes me more apt to fuck it up!… as normally i would just do it and not worry about to what ends. it is so obnoxious.

right now, the concrete examples contributing to pressures are probably: a) the film thing; b) the “my people” thing. the film thing because i feel like dreams and mushrooms and psychic readings have all been pointing me to it for quite some time now — but, like i’d mentioned to you, i don’t always feel like working on it. i usually feel it’s important to work on it when inspiration strikes — but because it keeps coming up, i am getting the sense that it will become an important thing, and that is making me feel like i should set goals even when setting goals feels wrong!! then the “my people” thing because i concluded lately that i am feeling rather lonely these days (take no offense <3) because many a close friend moved away and i am also feeling hermitude pretty strong — and i am almost looking with excitement towards whatever future group of people will hypothetically emerge for me to become truly feel at home with… because, like i said, i unfortunately still feel a bit uncomfortable around all of your band and stuff… and i'm waiting for it to blow over, but it's still there… and on top of that, so much more complication…! complication in whether my hypotheses (i told you the g&v) is even correct, and if so, again with the timeline thing… or if it's not correct, who it might be — or worse, whether there is even such a thing as a vaguely-defined path at all! perhaps, instead, there will never be a home of people, and it will eternally be a floating corpse of a loner (as with all my other past lives): me!

arf. i am beginning to realize that perhaps THIS — this time for deep writing and setting oneself back to 0 (it is 4:30am after all) — is the reason why i should probably take nights alone sometimes… more than any other reason. basic sanity, or something. but it's funny, the creature comforts just always make this seem so unnecessary, until slight grievances or emotional complications not dissected by writing build up until i am just "off" somehow…

anyway, because i've felt so disconnected and strange as of late — and been so out of touch with myself that i haven't ben able to explain it at all — i just wanted to share with you the greatest insight i've had in the recent past as to why i am a complete madwoman right now. hope it makes sense and you get it! (you'll get it, i'm sure.)

vivian

^ i am pretty into my own writing lately… not to sound bragadocious. but it pleases me. the inner monologue is fucking stroooooooooooooooooooong.

:(

the dream i had last night has left me inexplicably terrified of the future, and moreso, about how i will react to it. increasingly, i find myself frustrated about things in a certain way that is carnal and outside of my control; it bothers me most because it strikes me as unsympathetic to the tribulations of love. i am… feeling as though there will be worries to come, that i can predict, and that i will react to them poorly. i wonder if my having the dream will circumvent my acting poorly about it? is the fact that i am cognizant enough to make it not a problem? i certainly hope so.

i lied awake for a while last night; it was the first time in some time. the things that keep me up these nights always come back to the same root. it is the root at which i am the most juvenile, the most powerless, the most clueless about how to react or handle manners. and that is perhaps why i find myself passively aggressively exerting my frustrations until that is a method that no longer works — and it is only then that i find the ways to verbalize, but verbalizing it is always a stuttering stampede without nuance and lacking half of the original intention. repeatedly. and i am wondering if this change in instinctual reaction is due to an opening, initially, of these doors which had been closed… or if it is of timing, brought about by age… or if it is simply because it is the sole issue at hand. i think perhaps a combination of all three, as are all things of this manner… but it is frustrating. i’m frustrated by the situations at hand and by myself for my impatience. i am thinking the worst of all potential outcomes when i should not — but my mind is defaulting there, and that is what is leading me to lie awake at night. it is the same phenomenon from when i was a child, expecting the unending and unyielding pain, when in fact i learned later that it was not unending and unyielding. yet — some people are faced with that, do have that situation pop up — so while it may be premature to jump to the most negative conclusions… there is a possibility that jumping there will find itself to be appropriate and accurate.

i certainly hope this is not the case. i certainly hope that the worst i envision when i am lying awake at night is in fact far from a future reality — and that i will not find myself forced to negotiate my own moral compass in such a nebulous way… for there are no right answers in these kinds of situations, save for what you feel is right… and if what you feel is right feels wrong and becomes a matter of one’s own happiness versus that of another… it’s tricky. i don’t know. it’s tricky.

>>>

Edit April 7th, 2012:
Ah, it’s weird. I was talking about this or that when I was writing this post, but now it seems “this or that” could apply to multiple types of “this or that”, which is strange. What is my subconscious aware of that I am not?

Now continued in the car, after plenty of rumpus time! Oh much improved, I feel like a reinvented human being after being able to sleep properly and be able to discuss the issues that have presently been eating up my psyche. Currently on the way from Las Vegas to Reno; it is an eight hour drive, which at this point feels like next to nothing, considering our 24-hour session yesterday, towards the end of which I began to go absolutely insane…! I swear, had the drive been an hour more, I may have started getting stabby (as I jokingly conveyed to the others).

Anyway. Back to Tara’s reading. Where to begin. I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit in the moments between wake and sleep on this drive. It felt a bit rushed really because she was needing to go back to her house, but she took fifteen minutes or so to give me a reading. This morning, she texted Troy to have him tell me, “Viva La Revolucion,” adding that I would know what it meant. Do I know what it means? Only kind of, maybe. It is interesting, though, that she told me towards the end of my reading basically that I would be involved in some kind of demonstration of some sort, involving a beautiful painting or street art and acting or something, and that it would look like a temple, with me in it at the center. From afar, I would look painted like the temple, like part of the temple; from the side, those approaching closer would realize I was a regular person. I don’t know what kind of demonstration that would be for, but it’s interesting considering what Ashlyn had said about me joining some group – the more “scientific” group – in activism-type activities. I can’t think of anyone, really, including the G&V person I was originally thinking about, who would be particularly activist-oriented, but I suppose that all depends on what the future holds, as we are all constantly evolving…

While she was talking about that painting and visual art aspect, she was like, “You’ll be a great painter or artist… but also a rockstar! Let’s not forget rockstar!” and it was definitely funny, for obvious reasons. She soon continued, saying, “Wait, what do you do in the band?” and I said, “I don’t play in any bands.” And she was like, “Whew, I was only saying that because I didn’t want you to feel like what you were doing musically was a failure; actually, I didn’t see anything related to music at all!” HRMMMM!

Themes reoccurring in this reading that aligned with those of the past reading included the idea that I was really old, and really deep… she kept saying that I was really deep, like a well, and older or with more dignity than anyone my age was that she had seen. She also said that I had a duality to me – a part of me that was deep and really extremely wise, and another part of me that was a modern lady. At that point she asked if I was some sign that had the doubles – I think she meant Pisces – and I said that I was not, and that I was Sagittarius, which she was too. From that regard, I think maybe it is more the Sagittarius-Cancer dynamic that brings out dualities in me… though I didn’t say that…

From the beginning, she said that Troy hadn’t actually told her anything related to us, but that she felt like there was a lot of tension, a blockage of some sort that was very temporary, but was straining the relationship. She suggested that the two of us take two weeks to be completely alone – and I said that that would be possible for me but not really possible for him because of his work schedule. She suggested maybe a week, then, or as much time as possible that we could spend together without the presence of others. It makes sense, maybe, if it is with regards to repairing things. I think even last night the opportunity to be alone for an evening was extremely helpful… with regards to our relationship I feel like things have been always very obvious and “duh” – except when it comes to how others relate also to the situation. She also reassured me that the first two years are the hardest, and that it will become way easier as time goes on.

I told Troy last night that if the Burning Man grant the others applied for comes through this year – to build a giant pyramid on the Playa – that I probably wouldn’t do it anywaty. It seems like too much commitment for me, and I feel like I have more important things to do at this point in my life. I also would rather spend that knid of vacation time and energy in other places. In terms of them, I would even hope they would take the time to say fuck it to Burning Man and use that time and energy on their music; I feel like they have so much they could do and that the time Burning Man happens is ever so crucial… but it is not my decision to make, and I guess it all matters what will happen with the grant itself…

Anyway. Back to the reading. When reading my palms, the first things she said was that I would have two kids. This was very obvious. And they would be very close in age. This was also very obvious. This – in terms of number of kids and their ages – also aligns with Ashlyn’s reading. “Don’t worry; it’s not soon,” Tara made sure to say. Moving on, she said that I loved in the same way that Troy loved – that when I love someone, I really LOVE that person, and that in my life, I will only truly love one person. The thing shat she said she has never seen in a palm is that I will find the person that is my perfect love and we will get married and never divorce. We will grow old together. And I will live a long life without too many health problems. She said, “I’m sorry; that must sound really boring, but that’s just the case,” and I was like, “Are you kidding? That’s like the best thing ever.” Haha. And she said, “Well, I guess that just shows what kind of person I am! I am engaged and already looking for a way out!” And I laughed, and she said that it wasn’t really a joke, and that she always had a back door plan just in case because she is just a “free” person. She also said that she had cheated on the guy a couple of times – and that he knew it – but that she hadn’t done it in two years or so, and that she loved him, ultimately. I guess her and her fiancé dealt with cancer at year four though they are now on year eight.

There may be other things. I will fill them in later, or I will not! In any case, just ate a whole fucking box of Reese’s Whoppers earlier. Great combo! But probably should not have been done, in any case.

Added 2:23am, April 10th, 2012…
Something that was pretty interesting that she said was that it was okay for me to be passionate or something (in sex) — and that sometimes women are more passionate than guys. Struck me and stuck with me, for sure.

first chance to write since sxsw and i think only the second for the entire trip. certainly not the only time i have desired to; it just never quite works out correctly. this is the day after my sxsw showcase, when i am waiting in a parking lot of food carts — almost all of which are disgustingly meat-and-bbq-related, and yup, just waiting! it’s cool. last night’s show was a success — a great and extremely positively-vibed experience with not one band i did not desire or respect the work of. it feels good that at each of the events i thorw lately, people say that it is the best event they’ve been to in a long time. shit, it feels good! was also cool to literally only go to one sxsw show, austin psych fest, and see a bunch of people i know — ryat, woodsman, midday veil — just all converging in a small space! nice! tried to meet up with chris a whole bunch but it never worked out… hopefully will start to throw some shows with emily in seattle in the near future. lots of plans. also stoked the swahili dudes got to buddy up with young magic; they seem extremely awesome and nice. lumerians also killed it so hard and had a projector they projected on the side of the house. wherever, really. and it looked doooooope.

thickness of skin with relation to relationship stuf and dealing with my emotions with relation to having to see all of that, harboring secret contempt, not being bitter about perspective, but at the same time, knowing that some things are not just perspective but truth. it’s hard. that sentence made no sense, but whatever. had a dream the other night that i told troy, “fuck you,” and it was really intense, and i knew that there was contempt and the issue needed to be addressed…

my default mode is so ridiculous.

when i got my spirit guide reading recently, i was told that i need to meditate more so as to regain my strength because i get easily discouraged when i don’t. it’s true. the discouragement comes from when there is a disconnect between what society says i should be doing versus what i do do, which is what i tend to do, mostly without question. but then there are issues that people bring up that sometimes shake my foundations when in fact, a lot of the time, my foundations are mostly fine enough that they shouldn’t be questioned that much.

take, for example, the issue of troy and van, where every girl ever says, “i don’t understand how you can allow that to happen,” and such and such, sometimes even going as far as saying, “you are a saint.” they simply can’t fathom how my boyfriend can be living in the same house as, playing in the same band as, remaining best friends with, his ex-girlfriend. and to be sure, it is hard, but it’s mostly hard when others plant these doubts into my mind. in actuality, it’s not nearly as hard as people think it is.

so it is right now with my doing stuff to help their band. it’s my fucking default mode! i can’t help it! it’s like a project i’m working on — only it’s not my project. but my mind moves really fucking fast at connecting dots, and it’s just something that happens. i probably think more about what i can do for their band than a lot of them do, just because i have the connections — i know the people i want to show it to who might like it, because in some ways, showing music to people who will like it is my job… so that’s just a thought i drift towards, really, practically without thinking. but when this happens again my mind thinks, “what are you getting in return?” because that is always the crappy programmed response a lot of people have when it comes to this type of shit. or, that’s what society tells you should think. perhaps it’s not unfair for me to want things in return… or perhaps it is. i can’t tell! i really can’t! i don’t know if it’s because other people are more selfish or lazy that they can’t give back similarly, or if their brains simply don’t think of ways to give back in the way that my mind is constantly thinking about that shit. i dunno. it’s a weird scene. regardless, i’m pretty certain i can get their record signed to a pretty alright label — domestically and internationally — so it’s definitely a project. and i guess if i keep doing their video stuff i certainly have carved myself out a niche within their musical sphere. so i guess that’s the benefit i get from it, potentially; but it’s only funny because it’s a benefit that’s… how do we say… kind of like piggy-backing but not really… and kind of it’s a benefit that i’m making for myself, as opposed to a benefit that i’m given. well, i guess in some ways i’m given the trust to do it, so that’s a thing. i’m not sure. it’s unclear. it’s ouroboros, haha. i mean, i guess if i help get them fame and then i get fame through video shit, it works. it’s like paying dues, or something? fuck if i know. argh, society, why you gotta always hold us down! seriously, though, i can see why people just drop out of doing anything they “believe” in. have a weak enough sense of self and shit is just harrrrrrrrrrd. it’s hard to convince yourself to want to do things you believe in all the time. who knows when they’ll pay off. my crap better pay off soon.

this is day three of tour. san francisco at the hemlock was cool. saw ian and feelings — rad as always. swahili made a buncha money. skipped santa rosa show to hang out at home, which was apparently a good deal, because apparently santa rosa sucks and they played with a band named gay henry who apparently also sucks. i’m getting a past life reading today from swahili’s friend ashlyn, and i am also bringing back a shit ton of food that mom made for group lunch picnic in the park or something. weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. it’ll be a good day in oakland. i set them up with a show with clipd beaks this evening. WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. chris gave us a buncha suggestions for santa barbara (tomorrow). i’m stoooooooooooooooooooooked. also hoping he will like the new swahili tracks cause i just sent them to him! my new record label goal for them is seriously this: secretly canadian (or something else just as significant, like 4ad < my original goal).

anyway, i think i wrote this to reassure myself that i should just keep doing the shit i do by default because it is done in good taste, and i feel strongly that i should do it, so therefore, it is right, even if on occasion it makes me hella fucking jaded. so it goes.

9:07pm

I just threw away hundreds of Sushi Monsters postcards. Long overdue. I have held onto them for the past five years, it seems. Has it been that long? That is sheer insanity! It was a pack of a thousand initially. I had guessed tonight that there were three hundred or more, but closer inspection reveals numbers closer to six hundred or so. I suppose I have been holding onto them this entire time in the name of some sort of continuity, some sort of hope for resurrection in a project that was so much a part of my existence for quite some time. It is always sad to see things wither away when they showed signs of promise, but I suppose this is the nature of things.

I still wasn’t able to dispose of all of them. It’s my nostalgic nature. In time, no doubt, these too will go away.. but in the mean time, I am hanging onto them, catching the occasional. This, I guess, is the weight of object shrouded in nostalgia. They may never be used again, but their significance lies beyond any value of use. They have significance because they are reminders that crop up every time you change places, move. If even for no more than ten minutes, they provide a connection, a moment of insight and comparison between who you were then and who you are now, who was involved then and who is involved now. I have a difficult time allowing myself to become caught up in memories sometimes – as no doubt anyone with the least bit of sentimentalism does – but this type of sentimentalism is the reverse of progress; it is what hinders and stagnates a being… it can’t sustain, or one ruins oneself…

I am thinking lately that my project in REDEFINE has turned more into a project of my own with its latest transformation. And it’s not that I want it to be this way, but that the change is hard for some to grasp onto. How I wish I could explain better my vision – but I know only how to engage it by demonstrating, and less by directing. And everyone is so busy, so full of life and necessity, that while it is growing it seems simultaneously shrinking; burning bright while simultaneously fading. However that works is unbeknownst to me; I know only that it is working that way.

I am lethargic these days – slow in action and crawling at a snail’s pace in the mundane. With no internet at home, my use of time is stretched; I am putting everything in its right place on a bit by bit basis. No sweeping moves, no garishness. Only slow and deliberate, the opposite of what I have always been. I have changed in this, and I’m not certain I like it. Surely I am just as effective when I do put my mind to things, but the mind is difficult to put to things these days. It’s bored of directives and tasks. It wants to fly free without constraint. Perhaps after this upcoming road trip I will be able to settle back into routine – as routine as my complete lack of routine is – and be content with it rather than dulled. We shall see.

11:43pm
I have been consuming the words of Anais Nin and Henry Miller. They leave me with respect for him, a huge distaste for her. The fervor and belief with which she supported Henry Miller was perhaps generous, but in the “love” she had for him and for all the other lovers – of which there were so, so many – she had no scruples. And what’s more: she frowned upon others having scruples, yet felt jealous when Henry took lovers, despite having three or four at any given time herself! Her nature was water, in the most detestable of ways. And being introduced to the works of a lady who I had so longed to read and been so curious to learn about not only leaves me a bit disillusioned but is just downright obnoxious. She knows not herself yet attracts the others with a projected image of chastity, innocence, and trustworthiness – none of which she had. Perhaps later on in her life she mellows out and becomes tolerable, but I have consumed nearly a decade’s worth of material and have not found her to be a good person. Dedicated to supporting a man in his fine craft, yes, but good? Far from. It hardly matters how much effort one can put forth for another person if the bottom line is such loathsome selfishness and deceit. In reading her journal entries in Henry And June, I had only forty pages left to go but nearly wanted to toss the book aside, so tyrannical her thoughts seemed to be. So intrusive, so capable of planting seeds of insanity into my own mind. Certainly I could never come close to doing what she could – but there are parallels in some of her doubts and criticisms of Henry… some of which I was contemplating this morning upon wake about my own lover. For me, these criticisms are simply issues to be remedied, to be discussed. For her, they were wishy-washy complaints vetted out while she oscillated between proclaiming her intense love for Henry and her absolute nonchalance for him. Does such contradictory writing come from lack of self-reflection, or from the trauma she so insists upon? At one point, she says that her flaw for embellishment leads her down only one of four possible paths at any given time, that path not a full-truth but a fictitious one only partially true, because there are so many sides to her story that she can only follow one partially at once. Disgusting. I can do without ever reading any of her books again! To think that I respected her for her leanings towards Surrealism, thought her writings would perhaps echo those leanings… but instead what I find is disingenuous tripe, with even admitted lies to herself. Why I am ranting about this so much, I really don’t know. Why it bothers me so much, I don’t know. I suppose it puts me in a foul mood, generally, as it has shattered my image of her, and leaves in my mind thoughts of human savagery before I am to sleep. My dreams have been torturous lately at times, and I want not these failings of humanity to creep into them this evening. I am preemptively issuing my disapproval of her so as to somehow avoid a nightmare. We shall see if this tactic works… or if it serves to do just the opposite.

I hardly know what I am writing about. With the lack of the internet and so much ingestion of books, I am writing without proofing and posting it all in the aftermath. It leads to a much more raw creation, and that I can certainly appreciate. The quality, though… while I feel it is excellent at this time, subsequent reads may reveal that it is far from. But we’ll deal with that then. Will I edit it then? I will not. Consider then, this paragraph to be a fair warning that all of the above may be absolute shite.

And now, I will see if tonight is a proper night for editing my personal manuscript of most importance…